


growing old isn't hard (not when I'm with you)

by authoressjean



Series: the changed future [26]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, i swear to you, no one dies in this fic, this is really just fluff and happiness, with some typical angst that you should know I'll do at this point, you know the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "in need of a hand to hold" and Chapter 9 from "my words will wander".</p><p>It's Bilbo's 90th birthday. What should be a simple celebration to acknowledge a hobbit's older age is fraught with not so celebratory things. Such as Frodo's heartache over what he thought was love, and Bilbo's memory that continues to slip.</p><p>Yet a silver lining hangs in the cloud above: kin visitors that may help the celebratory feeling return. Kin that happens to know a little something about mending hearts, and a lot more about fighting hard for Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little heartbreaks

**Author's Note:**

> So this isn't the last story in the 'verse. Promise. Dedicated to my dear Dani who's sick at the moment. Hope this makes you feel better love!

The door to Bag-End slammed open and against the wall, startling Thorin enough that he reached for the nearest blade as a weapon, already half out of his chair. But it wasn’t the sound of orcs stampeding through the home that caught his ears. No, it was the sound of hobbit feet dashing down the hall and straight to the room said feet called their own. Another door slammed – the bedroom door.

For a long moment after that, no one moved.

Thorin carefully set the butter knife down and headed after Frodo. The front door was still hanging open, but the day was nice. It let Thorin double check that there wasn’t some horrible beast running after Frodo. He doubted it, but one never knew. Especially with the life he’d lived.

There was no one there but the sunlight. And whatever else had driven Frodo inside from the nice day.

Bilbo came out of the den, eyes wide. “What happened?” he asked.

“I haven’t a clue. I was drinking tea when he came barreling inside.” Thorin Oakenshield, former king of Erebor, drinking tea and buttering toast. No one would ever have guessed it, forty or so years ago. Now, no one could imagine anything but. It still made him grin, from time to time.

But none of that mattered when Frodo was still hiding in his room and there was no answer to be found.

“Come on,” Bilbo said with a sigh. He winced a little as he walked – the ankle again, that horrible ankle – but then his gait evened out and he was making better time down the hall than Thorin was. Of course he was. He’d be ninety in a week, and he could still walk faster than Thorin could, most days. Still young at heart, even if his body-

And that was in the list of things that Thorin Did Not Think About. At all. Because thinking about those things left him heart-sore and hating the coming days. He’d been doing well with it, for a great and many years, and now, now it was staring him in the face again.

The door was shut when they rounded the hallway to Frodo’s room. Thorin knocked hesitantly. “Frodo?” he called.

There was no worded response, but Thorin knew he’d heard sniffling on the other side of the door. “Frodo, tell me what’s wrong,” Thorin called again, softening his voice. His delicate jewel who wore his heart on his sleeve, his kindhearted nephew who never thought twice about helping another. Elodie, Elodie was the go-getter, the one with her mother’s flair and her father’s determination. She could be kind, too. But she protected others; that was how she showed loyalty and kindness. She had a backbone of mithril.

Frodo…Frodo was gentler, a more tender touch. He would speak out in defense of friends and kin when it called for it, but he would choose peace before war. It reminded Thorin of his own mother, lost so long ago.

Unfortunately, it typically meant that Frodo got stomped on a bit and his heart a little bruised for it.

“Frodo, I cannot help if you do not tell me what to mend,” Thorin tried again, but he’d already resigned himself to a day of waiting for Frodo to emerge. Then he’d get his answer and could offer aid in the best way possible: threatening all fools who dared harm his Frodo.

Bilbo sighed and then swiftly began pounding on the door. “Frodo Baggins, you will _not_ sulk all day, you _will_ come out and answer your uncle and I, and you _will_ do so right now.”

Thorin stared at his husband. Bilbo merely crossed his arms. “You are being unfair,” Thorin said lowly. Though their temperaments had changed much as they’d aged, Bilbo sterner where Thorin had softened, this was callous, even for him.

The door clicked, pausing whatever Bilbo would have said next. “No,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “I’m being kind. He wouldn’t have opened the door otherwise.”

“How is this being kind?”

“Because it’s the only way that my mother used to get _me_ out of _my_ room.”

It left Thorin pausing long enough for Frodo to open the door. He looked pale and unhappy, and there were tear tracks running down his face. He hitched a breath and wiped a hand over his face. “What?” he whispered.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Frodo, as horrible as the day may be, it’ll be all the more wretched if we have to do the front door hinges _again_. Do try to leave them on, if you can.”

Frodo’s lips turned up a little in bashfulness. Thorin shook his head, but he did have to admit, his husband had gotten Frodo out of the room, at least, and even with a halting smile. “What happened, little jewel?” he asked softly.

Frodo’s smile fell, and his eyes brimmed with tears. “I was foolish,” he whispered. “That’s all. Nothing more to it than that.”

“I believe it’s a great deal more than just that,” Bilbo said softly. When Frodo didn’t answer, he sighed and gave Frodo a gentle nudge back into his room. “Come on. What’s going on?”

Thorin followed them in and shut the door. The window left the room bathed in a warm glow, enough that Thorin could see around the room easily enough. The green paint still halfway up the walls, the forged mountain and soldiers that still held a place of importance on his shelf. The writing desk, the numerous books, and the old map of Erebor, hanging on the wall. A young hobbit nearly to his coming of age, that was who lived here. He was more a grown adult every day, one that Thorin took as much pride in as he did with Fili and Kili.

But in that moment, as Frodo sat on the bed and wiped at his tears, it was clearly a small child who sat beside Bilbo, one who needed the guidance of his uncles and fathers.

Bilbo brushed unruly locks of hair past Frodo’s tipped ear. “What’s wrong, Frodo?”

“I…I fell in love,” he said quietly, and Bilbo sat up a little straighter. Thorin stayed standing, surprised. In love? He hadn’t even heard about Frodo being interested in anyone, and in _love_? He met his husband’s eyes, but Bilbo looked just as bewildered as Thorin felt.

 _Did you know?_ Thorin mouthed to him.

Bilbo’s confusion swiftly changed into a glare. _Do I look like I knew?_ he mouthed back. Thorin just silently lifted his hands in the universal signal of, _I don’t know_ , and Bilbo pursed his lips. _I don’t know either._

That was sort of the problem. Frodo, in love, and Thorin hadn’t even _heard_ of a lass or lad who’d caught Frodo’s eyes. He’d admit, he was a little upset by it. Frodo told them everything, Thorin especially. Elodie went to Bilbo when she was upset, but she’d go to Thorin, too. It was clear that both of their children had their preferences, however, and neither of them begrudged Elodie and Frodo for it. In fact, it had made the raising of them that much easier through the years.

Not that Thorin or Bilbo were about to tip their hands and tell their children that. They weren’t playing on Frodo and Elodie so much as they were…hedging their bets as they played the Raise Children game. Parents, Uncles, it didn’t matter: they needed any advantage they could have.

Frodo sniffled, completely missing their silent conversation. “I didn’t tell him, but I fell in love, and he asked me, he asked if, if he should tell the one he loved that he wanted their hand.”

Thorin shut his eyes, already knowing where this was going. “It wasn’t you, was it,” Bilbo said quietly.

“No, it was _her_ ,” Frodo said, as if that explained everything. Bilbo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“My dear lad, sometimes…sometimes we don’t get the one we think our heart is crying for. It doesn’t work that way.”

“You got Uncle,” Frodo pointed out.

“But not the lad before him,” Bilbo replied without thinking, and Thorin’s head snapped over to his husband. Bilbo winced as if he hadn’t been intending on letting that piece of information out.

Frodo frowned, glancing between the both of them. “There was someone else before Uncle?”

“Yes, elaborate, husband of mine,” Thorin said with raised eyebrows.

Bilbo scowled at him. “He wasn’t meant for me, but I thought he was. He was a very nice lad and I fancied him. Is that good enough?”

No, Thorin wanted a name, but this wasn’t about them, this was about Frodo whose confusion was fading back into misery. With a sigh Bilbo cupped his nephew’s face. “I thought he was meant for me, Frodo, I truly did. But it never worked out and he married a beautiful wife and I…I had no one. But then I met your uncle, and it turned out, I _did_ have someone for me. I just hadn’t met them yet.”

“But I love him,” Frodo said miserably. “Uncle, I _love_ him. He’s everything to me.”

“You may yet meet the one you’re destined for,” Thorin said. He rested a hand on Frodo’s shoulder and smiled down at his nephew when he finally raised his head. “You wouldn’t want to miss them, would you?”

“Of course not,” Frodo said, but he sounded less enthusiastic about it. Thorin didn’t blame him. As far as Frodo was concerned, this young lad _was_ the one he was destined for.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Frodo, what did you tell him, when he said he was going to ask for…um. For ‘her’ hand?”

Frodo bit his lip. “I told him to do what made him happiest. Then I...well. Then I said I didn’t feel well and ran back here.”

There hadn’t been any doubt in Thorin’s mind as to what Frodo would do. Of course he would encourage whomever he was in love with to actually pursue their dream, even if it killed his own. “Little jewel,” Thorin murmured, and he bent down to press a kiss to Frodo’s head. A jewel in a den of thieves, a heart made out of beautifully spun and breakable glass. There were days he worried for Frodo.

A knock at the door made them look up. Elodie poked her head in and frowned as she took in the scene. “I was coming to find Frodo; Sam’s at the door, worried about him. Should I tell him to go away…?”

Sam?

Sam was the one Frodo was in love with?

As one Bilbo and Thorin turned to their nephew. Frodo seemed to hunch in on himself more. Elodie took one look at her brother and nodded. “I’ll tell him to come back later.” Their mithril heart and spine, their determined little protector and shieldmaiden.

“No, wait,” Frodo said, catching her mid-step. “Just…tell him to wait for me, please. We’re supposed to meet everyone down at the creek.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I really want to.” Frodo gave Bilbo one last nod before glancing at his sister, still hovering in the doorway. “Can you tell him I’m coming along?”

“You know I will.” And probably with a bit of, ‘Frodo’s not doing well right now so leave him alone,’ for good measure. Thorin felt his lips turning up into a quick grin he was helpless to stop.

“Our own shieldmaiden,” Bilbo murmured, obviously thinking the same thing. He turned to Frodo and pressed a kiss to his head. “You’re going to be all right, Frodo. It might not feel like it now, but I promise you with all the wisdom I’ve been gifted through life, especially wisdom that’s come from the hard way: you’ll be all right.”

Frodo took a breath before nodding. “And sometimes life isn’t fair,” he finally said, small and sad. Bilbo flinched but said nothing more in the face of such truth.

Thorin stood and pulled Frodo to his feet. “No, it often is not,” he agreed. “But sometimes, what we may see as unfair is truly a nudge onto the path you were meant to walk.”

“Were you ever nudged?” Frodo asked.

Thorin glanced at Bilbo. “I was, nudged into finding a burglar in the Shire. And I am quite glad that I was.”

Bilbo’s cheeks went pink in that beautiful way they did whenever he was embarrassed but secretly pleased. Frodo rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face, too, and Thorin clapped him on the back. “Go on, Frodo.”

Frodo nodded again and left the room, and Thorin couldn’t hear his footsteps. He did, however, hear Sam’s worried exclamation of, “Are you well, Mister Frodo? You got so pale, are you sure you should be out again if you’re not feeling well?”

“No, it’s fine,” Frodo insisted, and there was a pause. “I’ll be all right.”

Their voices faded as they headed back out into the sunshine. Thorin sighed and ran a hand over his face. “You weren’t prepared either, were you,” Bilbo said, less a question and more of a knowing statement.

“How did I miss that he was longing for Sam?” Thorin demanded. “He never mentioned it to us, not once.”

“He’s a Baggins,” Bilbo said with a shrug. “Internalizing hobbits, all of us. We keep good secrets, always have.”

Speaking of secrets… Thorin raised an eyebrow at his husband. Bilbo frowned. “What?”

“Who was it?” Thorin asked, and it was quite clear as to what he was referring to.

Bilbo shook his head. “Long ago and well over with, I promise you. There was never a chance for me, and then he got himself married and…well. That was that. I was young and foolish, that’s all. And yes, he’s still in the Shire, and no, I no longer hold affections of a romantic nature towards him.”

It was only when Thorin realized that his husband sounded defensive did he frown. “Bilbo, I’m not angry, nor am I upset. I was simply curious. If you do not wish to tell me, I will not pry further.”

Bilbo stopped. “Oh.”

Sometimes his husband was very clever, and sometimes Thorin was certain that the rock-headedness that the dwarves were so well known for had rubbed off on his husband. “Yes, oh,” he said. He pulled Bilbo to his feet and into Thorin’s arms. ‘Oh’ indeed.

“I wasn’t certain, that was all.”

“Beloved, you are mine, and I am yours. I have never doubted that. It was simply dwarven curiosity.”

Footsteps down the hall warned of Elodie’s approach, though Thorin knew without a doubt that his niece and daughter could move silently if she wished. Forty years and she’d learned to announce her presence.

He glanced at the door, just as Bilbo did, when Elodie leaned in. “What’s going on with Sam and Frodo?” she asked. “Sam looked petrified that something was wrong with my brother.”

“You might want to ask Frodo that,” Bilbo told her. “He’d be better equipped to answer that.”

Elodie sighed. “Does this have to do with his being sweet on Sam?”

Thorin stared. “You knew?”

Elodie stared. “You _didn’t_?”

“All right, meeting in the dining room,” Bilbo insisted. “Because while you were easy to figure out with Hob, Frodo isn’t so easy, and I’d like a leg up on what’s been going on.”

Elodie scowled at them, but the blush across her nose was clear as daylight. “There was nothing to figure out with Hob: he insisted on courting me, and I-“

“Pushed him into a mud puddle, amongst other things,” Thorin teased. Elodie moved her scowl to him, but her lips were turning up into a telltale grin. It was a good thing that she wasn’t any closer to Fili or Kili. Neither the Shire nor Erebor would have recovered. Never mind Merry or Lotho or, Mahal help them, little Pippin. No, it was a good thing that his nephews were as removed from the hobbits as they were. The Shire was turned into a land of chaos whenever they visited as it was.

Which reminded Thorin of the letter currently sitting on his side of the bed, the one he… _hadn’t_ quite read all the way through to Bilbo. Baggins weren’t the only ones who could keep a secret.

“I let him know that I had no intent of offering him my intentions,” she answered, and quite primly at that. “I wasn’t interested.”

“Mm,” Bilbo hummed, and his eyes twinkled. “That would explain the promise ring on your finger.”

“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t change my mind. He’s a bounder, and that’s quite lovely.”

It left Thorin worried, thinking of Elodie as a bounder, out defending the borders of the Shire. She knew how to defend herself, though – lessons with Thorin and Dwalin, whenever the dwarf came by, and some dirty fighting lessons from Bofur for good measure – and she’d always wanted to see more than just Hobbiton. She just happened to have found one of the few hobbits who agreed and wanted to marry her. Hob was a good man.

It didn’t mean that Thorin hadn’t scared the living daylights out of Hob when the hobbit had formally asked to court her. She might not be from Thorin’s blood, but Mahal help him, Elodie was _his_ , and he would not let just anyone take her heart.

“Meeting,” Bilbo reminded them, and they headed out to the other room. The front door was still wide open, and Frodo was no longer anywhere in sight. Thorin left it as it was with a sigh and turned to his husband and daughter.

Elodie wasted no time. “Frodo’s been sweet on Sam for several years now. After Sam came by, all worried when we’d left the Shire in such a rush for Erebor? What I didn’t know, until after the fact, was that Sam had offered to Frodo to go with us.”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose at that. “Sam has absolutely no inclination to go anywhere except the Shire,” he said, surprised.

“Well, he offered to Frodo, as a friend. But I think it sparked something in Frodo, and then when we returned, Sam was right there, ensuring Frodo was all right. And…well. Sam’s a fine looking lad and loyal to the core.”

Except where Frodo had fallen for the young lad, Sam had had no thought of anything except a deep friendship. Perhaps if the young hobbit Sam had fallen for hadn’t been there, then things might have ended differently.

“Sam loves Frodo,” Elodie said softly. “But as…well. ‘Friend’ seems a dreadful word, given how they’ve been raised in each other’s pockets. It’s just not the romantic love that Frodo wants it to be.”

Bilbo groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “My only question is why he told _you_ and not _us_.”

“I’m his sister,” Elodie said simply. “And honestly, you’ve both found your heart’s desiring. I’m safe to speak with, I’m not with Hob.”

“Yet,” Thorin pointed out.

“Yet,” she amended. Then she smiled. “I was a safer choice. Besides, I see Frodo more, so when I saw him all but mooning over Sam, I called him on it.”

 _Ah_. Now _that_ made more sense. “Well, that explains that,” Bilbo said. Elodie frowned, prompting Bilbo to snort. “No offense, my dear, but if Frodo wouldn’t tell us, the thought of him telling you without some… _nudging_ didn’t quite sit right.”

“All right, so I insisted he tell me the truth,” Elodie admitted. She crossed her arms. “I got farther than the both of you, now didn’t I?”

“Cheeky,” Thorin growled, placing a proud kiss on her forehead for it. Elodie giggled as if she was a tiny lass again.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but his own grin was clear to see. “Meeting adjourned?” Elodie asked. “I promised Hob I’d help with the party tents.”

“Party tents?” Bilbo asked, frowning. “Whatever for?”

Thorin stared at Bilbo, unease rolling in his gut. Elodie stilled but kept her face the same. “Your birthday, in a week,” she said softly. “Remember, Uncle?”

It wasn’t often. But every now and then Bilbo’s memory would just…slip. He would think himself somewhere else, or he would lose a conversation. It wasn’t very often at all. But enough that they had all come to recognize it for what it was. And Thorin was looking at it again, just as he had two months ago, when the last flare-up had happened.

“Really?” Bilbo exclaimed. “Is it that time of year already?”

Thorin took a deep breath to say something, but then he caught the twinkle in his husband’s eyes. Elodie narrowed her gaze. “Please tell me you think you’re being funny,” she said.

Bilbo laughed outright, and Thorin could have throttled him. “It’s not _funny_ , Uncle,” Elodie insisted. “Honestly.”

“Oh come on. If I can’t have any fun with it, then what’s the point?” He shook his head. “It’s not as if I can help myself when it happens. Might as well have some fun. Give me that.”

Elodie huffed and shook her head. “I’d be careful if I were you,” she warned as she headed for the door. “Because if you’re not careful, you won’t have another birthday. Uncle Thorin will ensure that.”

Thorin carefully unclenched his hands and glared at his husband. Bilbo met it with the same even gaze he always had, and in that moment, Thorin had never been more infuriated to see it. The gall of the hobbit…

“Elodie, close the door, would you?” Thorin managed through clenched teeth.

“Just let us know if there’ll still be a birthday celebration,” she called before stepping out. Once she was gone, Thorin advanced on his husband. Bilbo pursed his lips.

“You’re making something out of nothing. Really, Thorin.” He turned to go, but Thorin caught him by the arm. “Thorin-“

“The loss of memory is not something to trifle with, nor make light of,” Thorin said. He kept his grasp light enough that Bilbo could shake loose if he wanted to, but he’d have to put some physical effort into it. “When it happens, it tears something inside of me. How you can joke about something like this-“

“Because I’m not going to be joking about it in a few years!” Bilbo shouted, drawing Thorin up short. “That’s why! You don’t…”

He stared down at his feet for a moment before he’d regained enough of his composure to continue. “Thorin, it’s getting worse, and has, for several years now. You know this. _I_ know this. I feel like half the ruddy Shire knows at this point. And one of these days, it’s going to be bad. Very, very bad. And I don’t know if…if I’ll come back. And it terrifies me.”

Why did the name Baggins have to mean keeping such secrets to themselves? “Why haven’t you told me?” Thorin demanded, his voice barely more than a breath. “Beloved-“

“Because there’s nothing you can do,” Bilbo said softly. “If it’s going to happen, then it will happen. And if I don’t make light of it now, I won’t make it much farther. So for my own sanity, I have to jest, I have to control it somehow. Because there’s nothing else any of us can do. It’s a part of growing old. And, I suspect, the Ring has had something to do with it. It drove Gollum mad, didn’t it?”

It was probably also why Bilbo was aging as slowly as he was, and that, that Thorin wouldn’t ever speak wrongly of. But the thought of Bilbo spiraling into madness that he could never return from…it was more than he could bear to think of.

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Bilbo said miserably. “Because I didn’t want you to feel this way. I didn’t want you to have to suffer this.”

“Because your suffering this alone is so much better,” Thorin snapped, and in that instant his anger had returned full force. He caught Bilbo by the shoulders and hauled him forward. “You listen to me, Bilbo Baggins: I will not let you suffer this alone. I _refuse_. If you descend into madness, then I will follow you and bring you back. I will never let you stay lost.”

“You can’t always find me,” Bilbo insisted, but he was clinging to Thorin just as much as Thorin was clinging to him.

Thorin lowered his head until their foreheads touched, then stared his husband in the eyes. “Watch me,” he swore.

“We…ah…we’re not interrupting one of your ‘moments’, are we? Because we can always leave and come back later.”

The voice was like a breath of fresh air after being underground for too long. Thorin and Bilbo turned to the door – the open door, why was it that neither Frodo nor Elodie could close it? – and there was Fili, and Legolas right beside him. They smiled when they had Thorin’s attention, and he could hear the distant sounds of the others.

Bilbo jerked out of Thorin’s hold in his wonder and awe. “What…how…?”

“Surprise!” Kili exclaimed, hurrying past his husband and his brother into the room. He swept Bilbo into a massive embrace, and Bilbo was laughing, clinging tightly to his nephew. Thorin half wished he could forever freeze this moment of happiness, to forever keep this moment where everything was all right with the world.

Fili came in and embraced his uncle just as hard as Kili had, and Legolas also embraced the hobbit. “We’re here for your birthday,” Fili explained, when Bilbo continued to gape in surprise. “It was Uncle’s idea. It just so happened to work out well, that’s all.”

Bilbo turned to Thorin, surprised. “You did this? But how?”

“Dis-” he began, and then stopped when his sister walked through the door.

“…finally came to the Shire,” she finished for him. “Yes, yes I did.”

Thorin couldn’t seem to remember how to close his jaw, his own surprise overruling anything he might have said. If Dis was here, then who was on the throne?

“Dernwyn is holding governance over Erebor,” she explained. “For such a swift diplomatic visit, the dwarves of Erebor have agreed to also let Bard hold counsel on matters that the Council cannot determine on their own. With the Queen of the Mountain and the King of Dale handling things, Erebor can stand on its own, for a time.” She beamed, as if so pleased with her own cleverness she could hardly stand it. “Well?” she asked. “Are you not pleased to see me?”

It only took him three large strides across the room to lift her into his arms and spin her, holding her close. His sister, here, in the Shire. She laughed even as she was set down. The workings of the throne, despite never sitting upon it, had been taxing, and there were lines upon her face now that had not been there before. Yes, she could rest here, and relax, and return to Erebor rejuvenated. And she was _here_ , when Thorin had thought she would have to remain behind to let Fili and Kili go.

“I am greatly pleased to see you,” he said quietly. “So much, little sister.”

“And I you, brother mine,” she said. Then she turned to Bilbo, and she hurried to him in much the same manner. Bilbo could hardly contain his joy at seeing her, and Dis was obviously thrilled.

“Who all is here?” Bilbo asked, laughter still in his voice.

“Me, Fee, Mother, Legolas, obviously, but Dwalin and Ori are here, and so are Tauriel and Gimli. Bifur wanted to come but there was an incident with a wild boar that didn’t quite work out. Nori is traveling so he’s sent your gift on with us, and Dori’s is here too-“

Kili’s voice went on and on, and Thorin felt his own heart flood with happiness, at having his kin here, after so long of simple sparse visits with only one or two arriving at a time. Yet for all the joy that was flowing through the room, Thorin could not help but remember the conversation that had preceded it. The madness that was slowly descending like a storm cloud, one that wished to whisk his husband away.

He wouldn’t let it. He _would not_. He had fought to keep Bilbo for all these years, and he would fight for him again.

He dismissed the thoughts for now. There were other dwarves to welcome in, and he could hear Dwalin’s voice coming up the path. Elodie would be thrilled, and Frodo as well. Perhaps the arrival of their favorite dwarf would brush away Frodo’s melancholy.

Hopefully it would push away all of their melancholy. If just even for a time.


	2. Little seeds of hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dis offers counsel to her brother, and Frodo receives some (actually) good advice from Dwalin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent the weekend with my mom nearly dying in the hospital, and she's home today after receiving 4 bags of blood in a transfusion. My elation is sort of bubbling over at this point that she's home, she's safe, so here, have another chapter!

“Tell me what bothers you.”

It hadn’t taken much to figure out that there was something wrong with Dis’s brothers. She’d seen it for herself, in their faces and the way they looked at one another, as if they were afraid the other would simply disappear if they didn’t watch hard enough. She’d have known even before her son came and told her what he’d seen. Fili had mentioned walking in on a very earnest moment between them, one that had been Thorin swearing an oath to his husband. Her son had spoken of the misery upon Bilbo’s face and the fact that whatever it had been, it hadn’t been good.

And Thorin hadn’t exactly been very forthcoming in his letter to them when he’d begged them to come to the Shire. Something about Bilbo, and while Thorin had, and always would, worry about his husband, requesting their visit had certainly put a stressed emphasis on how severe his worry was. Or how concerning the problem was. But nothing had been said or explained about it, and now there was more mystery on top of the elusive problem.

That meant it was up to Dis to delve deep and do what she did best: poke and prod until she got to the bottom of whatever was going on. When it came to the well being of her family, she would not be denied.

Currently, they were outside overseeing the arrangement of the party tents. Elodie had been overjoyed to see her again, and had excitedly spoken of everything in the Shire around them, showing Dis this and that. Despite being well over her coming of age, Elodie had been like a small lass again, dashing this way and that. Only when she’d been convinced that Dis would still be there for the many days ahead did she finally depart, hurrying away to help with the tents. Dis was half convinced that the reason Elodie had gone was because Dwalin had been there, helping lift the tents beside Bofur and Ori.

Seemed her cousin could hide a few secrets when he wanted to. Dwalin had admitted to heading out a time or twenty to the Shire on his own, sometimes with Ori, sometimes with Bifur, sometimes without anyone. Dis knew he was a favorite of the little hobbits. More and more he’d left the duties of Captain to Dril, and Dis had a sneaking suspicion it was only a matter of time before Dwalin handed the duties over entirely. No one had held the title of Captain as long as Dwalin had. And now that he had a reason to be elsewhere?

Well. She wouldn’t deny him his retirement. None of them would, as much as they would miss him.

But those were thoughts for a later time. She had more pressing matters to consider, and they included her brother standing beside her. Her other brother was off with his fellow hobbits, directing things about. She wasn’t quite certain how planning and arranging one’s own party could be fun, but at least it would be the way he wanted it, she supposed. Thorin had been content to settle by the wayside to watch, and Dis had quietly made her way over to join him.

“Thorin,” she said quietly, and her brother sighed. “What bothers you?”

“Things beyond my control,” he said. “Though I wish they were not.”

“Brother mine, you would control the whole world if you could,” she teased. “You would demand the sun rise at the exact right time for you to enjoy it and for it to descend only when you were done with it. I’ve known this since you were not even of age. So that can’t be what bothers you so.”

Thorin didn’t so much as grin. Dis pursed her lips. “If you won’t answer me, I’ll go ask Bilbo,” she insisted, then watched as Thorin flinched a little. “Or is it my hobbit brother?” she asked, softer now.

Thorin swung a half-hearted glare in her direction. “You meddle,” he said, but he didn’t sound particularly angry about it.

“Someone has to. Tell me what’s going on, and I’m not taking a ‘no’ for an answer.”

With another sigh Thorin fixed his attention on the ground he stood upon. “Bilbo is aging,” he said softly, so softly she could barely hear him.

Dis nearly rolled her eyes. It was no pleasant thought, but honestly, it was going to happen. “Thorin-“

“And there is a madness that takes him with every passing day.”

Dis paused. That…that was different. “What do you mean, madness?” she asked.

“Little slips of memory. Imagining things there that aren’t. He only told me this afternoon, right before you arrived, that it’s getting worse, and that it terrifies him. He didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to worry.”

That sounded like Bilbo. “Well, he wasn’t wrong,” she pointed out. “You’re sitting in the dark with me instead of following after your husband in the sunlight.” The sunlight that was fading, but still illuminated the field where the party was to be held. She could easily spot Bilbo pointing this way and that, ushering the children onward as they came to ‘help’. There was laughter, audible even from their distance, and she could even see the fond smile on Bilbo’s face from where she stood.

Thorin said nothing. Dis finally stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. Taller though he was, he was hunched over in his misery, making it easier for her to get to him. “Is there nothing you can do?” she asked. “Is there nothing that will help?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I don’t think it can be undone. He fears it to be the result of the Ring, and I…I think it may be, as well. It drove the creature Gollum mad. Anyone who came near it was affected by it, and Bilbo _wore_ it. He used it and then carried it into Mordor. You did not see him, after Mordor, when I found him…”

And that would always be the crux of Thorin’s terror, his reason for fearing. Because he had nearly lost Bilbo before he’d had a chance to apologize, a chance to make things right between them. Dis had heard from her sons the state of Bilbo, after they had been returned to Minas Tirith. How frail and broken her hobbit brother had been, how Thorin had stared and stared after him once the elves had taken him away and had only been swayed to sit down by Dwalin.

The elves. “Thorin, the elves,” she said, and when he turned to her with a frown, she shook him by his shoulder. “Have you spoken to Lord Elrond? If anyone should know the secrets to health and happiness, it would be them.”

Thorin’s face slowly smoothed out into surprise, then wonderment. “I have not,” he said, his voice rough. “I will write to him.”

“They may not be able to help,” she cautioned. As much as it burned her to shred the hope she had only moments before handed him, setting all of his sights on an answer that might not come would only end in despair. “There may be nothing anyone can do, Thorin.”

“But I can at least ask,” Thorin insisted. “It’s more than I had before. Thank you. _Thank you_ , Dis.” He pulled her into his embrace and rested his chin atop her head. It meant she had to duck her head into his chest, but it took her back to her days when she had been but a young lass wrapped up in his arms. Always safe with her brother, always knowing exactly where she could hide.

It made a part of her think treacherously about the silver hair that was coming in to Thorin’s hair, the growing creases around his eyes, his hands that were no longer smooth. She bit her lip and forced the thoughts away. Aging happened. She could not fight against it, as Thorin seemed to be insistent upon doing. She would accept the inevitable, whenever it happened.

She would never welcome it. But she would accept it with more grace than her brother, that was for certain.

Still, when he led her down to the field to join with the others, she followed at a slower pace, her eyes taking in her grown children, her older cousin, her two brothers with their ages visible. She thought of her own hands, growing tougher through her years, though she had many left to her still. Her fingers went to the braid wound forever for her lost husband, and she swore she could feel the difference between the dark strands and those that were beginning to shine with silver.

Then Elodie and Frodo found her, and she abandoned her thoughts to follow them instead. They were here to celebrate life. She refused to let other thoughts entertain her time.

 

The morning of the party dawned bright and clear, which Frodo was thankful for. There was nothing worse than a party being kept indoors on account of rain. Absolutely nothing worse.

…Well. There were other things far, far worse. And Frodo wasn’t thinking about the party, not at all, no matter how much he’d been enjoying the company of kin from Erebor or the way his uncles smiled more over the past week. He wished all the happiness could keep him at bay from his thoughts, but it was hard, especially when his source of pain was right beside him.

His eyes went to the small house next door, where the Gamgees lived. Sam was out front tending to his own garden. His eyes seemed to light up when he saw how his tomatoes were growing, and Frodo felt like a fool: hiding behind the growing bush between their smials, watching his best friend, his greatest friend, and knowing it would never amount to anything.

He’d been so _certain_ , though, that Sam had felt the same way. The way Sam had come to him, insisting he’d leave the Shire for Frodo just to ensure he was safe. The way he’d embraced Frodo upon their return. Frodo had felt his heart swell with the love he had for his friend, and he’d crossed his fingers and waited for the right time to properly tell him. Waited until he was of age so he could court Sam the right way.

Then…

He couldn’t blame Sam. Rosie Cotton was one of the prettiest girls in the Shire, besides Elodie. Where Elodie’s dark raven hair and bright eyes had led to Uncle Thorin glaring off more than one suitor, Rosie’s blonde hair and infectious smile had caught many an eye. It was no wonder that her cheerful demeanor and sweet disposition, her golden hair and her sunny smile, had caught Sam.

He ought to be a better friend. He ought to go over there and ask if Rosie had said yes. Sam had been, well, not quite avoiding him, but not actively seeking him out, either. Which Frodo had been fine with at first – seeing Sam less had been a good thing after the initial rejection – but now he found himself missing Sam. He hoped this wouldn’t be a sign of things to come, of Sam going off with Rosie and disappearing from Frodo’s life completely.

He wished that Rosie and Sam had never met. He wished he could be the one that Sam loved. He wished he was more than he was, that he could be everything Sam needed.

“Might as well wish for wings,” he muttered to himself miserably. He took a breath, then another, steeling himself up to go talk to his friend. He just needed to do it. And do it now. Right. He could do that. Right then and there.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Frodo instinctively whipped around to catch it by the wrist. Dwalin stood there, one eyebrow raised. Frodo felt his face flush. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Good reflexes,” Dwalin commented. “Glad you kept that bit of trainin’. Could save your life one day, you know.”

“I know. I’m glad you taught me.” Dwalin had shown him many a move over the years. Between him, Uncle Thorin, and Uncle Bofur, Frodo was fairly certain he could defend himself, if the time ever came. Given how protective all of them were, though, Frodo doubted there would ever be a time.

Dwalin glanced over his shoulder at where Sam was still tending his garden, oblivious to the conversation happening next door. Frodo felt his cheeks go a little red. If either of his uncles had said anything-

“C’mon,” Dwalin said, tugging at his arm, and Frodo sighed. Of course they’d said something. Of course.

“My uncles told you, didn’t they?”

“Might’ve mentioned somethin’ about you fallin’ in love or the like.”

Of course they had. His face burned at the fact that not only did others know about his rejection, but _Dwalin_ , of all people, had been told. One of the people Frodo looked up to the most. He felt tears burn in his eyes and ducked his head away from Dwalin as they reached the back garden.

“Oi, none of that,” Dwalin said firmly. Yet his touch was gentle as he knelt and wiped Frodo’s tears away. “They’re worried about you. Only reason they told me. Didn’t say anythin’ to anyone else, I promise.”

Frodo sniffled and wiped at his eyes. He felt like a child, and he knew he wasn’t quite of age, not yet, but he ought to be doing anything else except _weeping_ like a babe. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Ah, lad,” Dwalin soothed, and he pulled Frodo into his arms. “You’re allowed to feel, you know. You’re allowed to feel and show it. The toughest warriors will wail and grieve openly for those lost. Not any less for showin’ your tears.”

Somehow, Dwalin was like his uncles: he always knew the right thing to say. He nodded against Dwalin’s shoulder and pulled back to wipe at his face again. Dwalin waited, more patiently than anyone would probably think him capable of, until Frodo spoke. “What’s the matter with me? Wouldn’t I be someone worth having?”

“Frodo, you’re worth everythin’. That I can promise you. And one day, you’ll meet up with someone who wants all of you. Just got to hold on until that happens.”

All things he’d been told by his uncles. He supposed that made it all the more true, but it still wasn’t easy to hear. He nodded all the same.

Dwalin sighed and stood up. “You ever hear how Ori and I found each other?” he asked out of the blue.

Frodo blinked. “No, I haven’t,” he finally said. That wasn’t a story he’d been told before. Not to his recollection, at least.

“We’d not really met before the journey to Erebor. I knew his brothers, but not him. We nearly bumped into each other in Bag-End before we left, and he was the sweetest and most perfect bein’ I’d ever met.” Dwalin chuckled and started moving around the garden – most likely to get away from Bag-End, where eavesdroppers were sure to be lurking – so Frodo followed. “Then he started swearin’ up a storm against Smaug, and I fell in love.”

Frodo snorted despite himself. “So you asked for his hand?”

“Nah. Couldn’t even talk to him, much.”

Frodo stared. “You couldn’t… _talk_ to him?”

“Too nervous, wasn’t I? Hush, you,” Dwalin growled when Frodo began to grin. It was something worth grinning at, though. The thought of Dwalin being unable to speak to Ori out of nerves gave him a giggle.

Dwalin rolled his eyes but kept going. ”At _any_ rate, your uncle Bilbo came over to me one night and told me to just go talk to Ori. Said somethin’ about bein’ done with ‘moon eyes’ or whatever. So I finally straightened my spine and went to go speak with him about it. Except Ori came to me and spoke to _me_. So of course I had to tell him how I felt. We didn’t know your uncle’d talked to us both until much later. Seemed he got tired of us starin’ at each other or somethin’.”

“Or something,” Frodo said, highly amused now. Dwalin growled at him again and tussled his hair, but he gave a grin when Frodo laughed. It was a good story, at least. A happy romantic ending. One Frodo wasn’t going to ever get. His smile fell as reality set back in.

Dwalin sighed and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Look here. Your uncles had about the most disastrous attempt at findin’ each other that anyone’s ever had. And they still survived and wound up together. I’ve never seen your uncle Thorin so happy before. And he’d been downright miserable before that. If they can figure it out, you certainly can. Believe me. Those two were near intolerable for the longest time.”

Frodo felt his lips twitch at the thought. “You think it’s funny but it was horrid,” Dwalin said, shuddering. “So if they can survive it, you’ll do a lot better.”

“But they knew who it was,” Frodo said quietly. “They both knew. And I…” He knew.

“Do you know for certain it’s Sam?” Dwalin asked, pitching his voice low. “You’d swear before the Valar that it was Sam and that they’d done it wrong and you were supposed to be with him?”

Frodo paused, long enough for Dwalin to speak again. “Maybe Sam’s not meant to hold your hand. Maybe someone else is supposed to do it. You don’t know, lad. And if you’re holdin’ his hand and determined not to let go, you’ll miss out on the person who’s supposed to be there.”

Someone better than Sam? The thought didn’t bear thinking of. He couldn’t imagine anyone better than his Sam. His Sam, forever and always, just as they’d been since he could remember.

Dwalin patted him on the back before moving off. “You’ll figure it out. I’ve faith in you.”

It took Frodo some time before he moved from his spot, and it was only to head back inside at long last, where his uncle was putting the last touches on a few gifts. Kili was helping, but he was getting more of the string tangled than he was actually straightening. Legolas sat behind him, patiently taking everything his husband was twisting and undoing it. Sam had done that once, when he’d knotted up his vest ties in the back something horrible-

How could there be anyone else for him except for Sam? How?

“Frodo? Are you all right?” Uncle Bilbo asked. He’d paused in his work, watching Frodo with concern.

“Did Dwalin find you? He was looking for you,” Kili mentioned. He made a face at the ribbon he’d just knotted up and pushed it behind him, where Legolas took it with an air of amusement and quickly set it even again.

“He did,” Frodo said quietly. “I suppose I just…have to think.” About how much he was going to love someone who would never return his affections. Not that way.

Uncle Bilbo finally gave a nod. “Well, would you be all right thinking while taking this package to Adelard Took? He was going to be in charge of sorting out the tables for today, and I’d promised to give him a banner for the job.”

“Adelard! Does he still take umbrellas?” Legolas asked with a grin.

Frodo huffed. “He tried to steal Uncle’s just last week, when he came into town to discuss the party. It didn’t end well.”

“Yes, well, he has a multitude of umbrellas at this point. I’ve only got the one,” Uncle Bilbo muttered. Kili frowned, obviously not familiar with Adelard at all, and Frodo sort of envied him. Adelard was an odd sort. Even Tauriel, sitting beside Esmeralda and Gimli on the floor and putting name tags on packages, gave a quick grin at the thought of the thieving hobbit.

But Adelard was still very friendly and always helping Frodo with things, and he was kind. A bit eccentric, but then again, so was Uncle Bilbo. Frodo quite liked Adelard Took.

“I can take it,” Frodo agreed. He wound up with the package not a moment later and Uncle Bilbo’s quick pat on the arm. For someone who was only getting older and not younger, his uncle still had some strength left in him. He’d heard someone in the market calling Uncle Bilbo “feeble” and he’d wanted to laugh. There were a lot of words to describe his uncle, but “feeble” wasn’t one of them. Sam had rolled his eyes when he’d heard-

Frodo made an unhappy sound, stopping in the road. Couldn’t he think of anything except Sam? Anyone else, just…just not him. Not now.

He miserably made his way down to town, where the party tree was being set up. The tents stood tall with streamers flying in the wind, and come that evening, it was going to be a grand affair indeed. It wasn’t often that someone turned 90 years old, especially after the life that Uncle had had. Tonight would be worth remembering, he could feel it.

He found Adelard easily enough, alongside the table meant for the kegs, and handed the package over. There were two umbrellas hooked into the hobbit’s waistcoat, and Frodo made no mention of them. It did pull a smile to his lips, however faint it was.

“And how are you, my lad?” Adelard asked, taking the package. “Well, I hope?”

“Well enough,” Frodo hedged. Better than saying, _Completely lost without my Sam, how are you?_

“You’ll be better than well tonight!” Adelard said firmly. “It’ll be quite the party, yes indeed. By the way, when you see Gandalf, tell him I need his fireworks all lined up in that tent over there, will you?”

Frodo blinked. “Gandalf? Gandalf’s coming?”

“’Course he is! Will you tell him? Last I heard, he’d been coming up the East Road. If you’ve other things to do, I completely understand. I’ll send Reginard or Everard after him. Reginard! Could you do me a favor, my boy?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Frodo promised. It seemed Yavanna was determined to see him smile, and his lips turned up into a wide grin. _Gandalf_. “I’ll see to him!”

He turned and hurried off, leaving Adelard behind. “Never mind,” Adelard told his son, who had just arrived. “Never mind, a million and one things to do! Off we go.”

“Who was that?”

“Why, that was Frodo Baggins! Do you not know Bilbo’s nephew?”

Golden brown hair caught the sun as the young hobbit spun and glanced down the road. Frodo was already halfway down the lane and running all the faster.

“No, I don’t think I do,” Reginard said, half to himself. Adelard paid him no mind and went back to his work.

Neither he nor Frodo noticed Reginard’s gaze as it lingered on the running hobbit.

 


	3. A little happiness tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birthday celebration of Bilbo Baggins comes with its share of laughs, of dances, of betrothals, and happy endings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are a few things to note with this chapter. The first two I'll post here, the last will come at the end of the chapter.
> 
> First:
> 
> 1) Heyerette and A-child-of-Yavanna requested things: Heyerette wanted more of Kili and Legolas, and A-child-of-Yavanna wanted to see Thorin and Bilbo dancing. Both are fulfilled with this chapter. Hope you like it!
> 
> 2) Is anyone familiar with Frodo dancing, in the movie, at Bilbo's farewell party? [This part?](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v382/mechtild/FotR%20Caps%201/DancingFrodo1.jpg) It's a thing in fandom as to who the two dancing with Frodo are. Well. I've given them both names, and the one on the right? That's Reginard Took.
> 
> DO NOT read the final note until after you've read the chapter. Trust me.

Bilbo was humming a random tune when Thorin found him. “Are you ready, beloved?” he asked.

“Just buttoning the last button,” Bilbo promised. He had to admit, the red vest was quite becoming. An early gift from Dis, who’d told him that Dernwyn and Baldrin’s hands had both lent to the task, as had Dori’s. She’d assured him that Hildili’s hands had gone nowhere near it. As much as he loved his niece, Lili couldn’t sew a straight line if her life depended on it. He grinned at the thought.

Hands wrapped around him just as he’d finished the last button. “And what has you smiling like that?” Thorin murmured in his ear.

Bilbo leaned his head against his husband’s. In the mirror, he could almost still see them as they had been forty years ago – young and foolishly in love. Still foolishly in love, but no longer were they young. They still looked like they fit, however. Two puzzle pieces that worked well together.

“Hmm?”

“Life, today,” Bilbo said. “All of it, I think. It’s been a wonderful time, having everyone here. You managed to surprise me, you sneaky dwarf.”

Thorin chuckled and pressed a kiss against his silver curls. “I have another surprise yet waiting, but I cannot promise that it will lead anywhere as good. I hope it will.”

Curious, Bilbo turned from their reflection to Thorin. “What do you mean?”

Thorin stepped out of their embrace to cup his hands around Bilbo’s face. “I sent a letter to Lord Elrond. I asked him for help. To see if…if he could aid us with what the Ring has done.”

Bilbo stilled. “I don’t know if he can help,” Thorin admitted. “But I had to try. I will not lose you, Bilbo Baggins. I refuse. I have fought armies and thieves, every race and beast known to Arda, all to keep you by my side. I will not cede now.”

His eyes were deep and dark, endless pieces of his soul that Bilbo could hardly still believe they were his to look into, his to see. All of that soul belonged to him, though, just as much as his belonged to Thorin. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to see the very being of Thorin, when Thorin could see the very core of him?

He knew that fear, the terror that was driving his husband. The limitless fear that Thorin held was for him, the age that Thorin couldn’t fight against, no matter how hard he might do battle. He couldn’t avoid it, and as the years piled on, it was becoming more and more obvious of that fact. Thorin was lost, had lost. He couldn’t stop age.

And yet.

Bilbo knew his eyes were burning, but he ignored it in favor of meeting Thorin’s lips with his. “Have I told you, recently, that I love you?” he choked out.

Thorin gave him a wet smile in return. “At least five times a day.”

Yet this incredible dwarf refused to let him go, refused to not spend just one more day with Bilbo at his side. “My stubborn dwarf,” Bilbo murmured, and Thorin just pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“My insufferable hobbit. Who will be late to his to his own party if we’re not careful.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Cheeky, just like Elodie,” Thorin grumped, but he kissed the tip of Bilbo’s nose.

“And who do you think she got it from? _Certainly_ not me.”

“Certainly not.”

“Uncle! Are you both coming or what? Gandalf’s doing fireworks!”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You’d think Kili was just a lad given the excitement in his voice, not a fully fledged and capable adult.”

“Uncle!!” came the echoing cry from his other nephew, and it made him grin. King and Advisor, and both of them as full of energy as children.

“Oh, because Fili’s any better.” Still, Thorin headed for the door, where two supposedly full grown dwarves were anxiously waiting. Bilbo tarried a moment more, taking in the sight of his husband. Silver strands were more visible these days, nearly hiding the few dark hairs that remained. His skin reflected his age, but nowhere near the age that Bilbo felt on a regular basis. And there was no madness sinking into Thorin’s mind, robbing him of all that he remembered.

He wondered if he would remember his family in the years to come. He wondered if he would forget them, and he wouldn’t ever come back. The panic rose and stole his breath, the thought of losing complete control over his mind and disappearing, never to return, enough to leave him standing paralyzed in the room.

_If you descend into madness, then I will follow you and bring you back. I will never let you stay lost._

He took a deep breath in, then let it out. Tonight was not about what could be or what might not be, if Thorin ever had his way. It was about celebrating kin and another year gone by. Another beautiful year with his family here in the Shire.

“Beloved? Are you well?” Thorin’s face clearly stated that he didn’t think Bilbo _was_ well, and he made a half step back to Bilbo before the hobbit could wave him off.

“I’m, I’m fine. I just…needed a minute. I’m all right, I promise.”

“If you’re unwell, the others will understand,” Thorin said immediately.

Bilbo let out a snort. “They will _not_ and you know it. Never let it be said that I came between a hobbit and a feast. Honestly, I’m quite fine.” He joined Thorin by the door before his husband could be dissuaded. “We’ll be late for my own party, and what a sight that would be, hmm? Come on. You owe me a dance, too, you know. I insist.”

Thorin watched him for a long moment, and Bilbo wondered what his husband saw in him. Then the corners of Thorin’s lips turned up, and he rested a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Then we shall dance. I would not deny my husband, especially not on his birthday.”

“Are you done being so cozy? Because it’s sickening, really,” Kili complained, still standing outside. Fili rolled his eyes.

“As if you and Legolas are any better. You two are dreadful. I had to sit and listen to you both being sweet on each other all the way here!”

“You and Dernwyn are just as bad, you know.”

“Come along, children,” Bilbo said with a sigh. Kili and Fili both laughed and hurried down towards the celebrations, which were already lighting up the night.

 

It was a good night for a party. There were hundreds of people, it seemed, milling about the various tents and tables. Dwalin was leading a drinking challenge, with Ori watching and laughing. Kili had a feeling that Gimli would outdrink the other dwarf, but that was neither here nor there. Kili had other plans.

Such as leaning against his husband and letting out a sigh of contentment. “I’m stuffed,” he moaned. “Legolas, help.”

“And what would you have me do?” Legolas asked, highly amused. “Carry you back to Bag-End before dessert?”

“Is there dessert?” Kili asked, quickly sitting back up. Legolas let out a laugh that sounded like the chime of bells, and Kili felt as if he were drunk, overindulged on the sound of his husband’s happiness. He leaned in and stole a kiss, just because he could. When he pulled away Legolas chased after him, and Kili murmured his appreciation. Not all that he wanted to do – there _were_ children about – but enough to keep him content. For now.

“Yes, dessert,” Legolas murmured against his lips. “If Bilbo has had his way, there will be pie.”

“And cake,” Kili whispered. “Uncle does love his cake.”

“And cake,” Legolas agreed. His breath was warm, and Kili smiled.

“And you.”

“I am not dessert, my love.”

“You are to me.”

Fili would accuse him of being as sappy as their uncles had been earlier, but Kili didn’t care. Not when Legolas’s eyes were darkening with promise, not when he had slightly bruised lips waiting for him-

A flash of color caught his eye, and Kili turned on instinct, expecting a firework. Instead, what he found were two young hobbits darting into the tent that held Gandalf’s fireworks. His gaze narrowed. “They’re not supposed to be in there,” he said. He found Gandalf easily enough – sending smoke ships from his pipe to a group of delighted children – and not looking anywhere towards the tent.

Drat. “Gandalf has not seen them,” Legolas said, apparently putting aside his affections as well. Kili mentally cursed the two young hobbits and pulled his husband up from their bench.

Fili met them halfway across the party grounds. “Saw them too?” he asked. He already had what Holdred affectionately referred to as his “Father” face on. It would scare the daylights out of the young hobbits, that was for certain.

“Let’s see what trouble they’re getting into,” Kili said, and he quickly pulled the flap of the tent up. He stopped in surprise, Fili and Legolas nearly running into him.

Merry and Pippin stared back. “Close the flap, you’ll tell everyone where we’re at!” Merry finally hissed. He carried on with what he was doing, which seemed to be setting a rather large firework into place. A firework that looked suspiciously shaped like a…

“Is that a dragon?” Fili asked incredulously. “Are you _serious_?”

“Mum told me about how Gandalf used a dragon firework to scare enemies out of Erebor,” Merry said, all but bouncing. “We wanted to see it!”

“Can you imagine? A huge dragon, lighting up the sky!” Pippin exclaimed before Merry shushed him. He still kept tapping his feet, as if unable to stay still.

“I wouldn’t advise doing that,” Fili said firmly. “That’s a very large firework, and believe me, it is massive. If Gandalf has recreated the firework that I think he has, it’ll be larger than even you can handle.”

“Oh, we’ll be fine,” Pippin insisted, waving him off. Then, before Kili could argue with him, Merry lit the end of the firework.

“Now what?” Pippin asked.

“We put it in the ground.”

Kili’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t _do_ that already?”

Merry seemed to have reconsidered his position, what with both of his hands on the head of the firework. He quickly pushed it to Kili, who immediately pushed it to Fili out of instinct. “Put it in the ground!” Pippin cried.

“You can’t put it in the ground _now_!” Fili shouted, shoving it away. An arm around Kili’s waist pulled him away just as the firework, mostly upright, went off. The resulting explosion would’ve shot Kili straight out of the tent if it hadn’t been for Legolas, who’d hauled him down to the ground. From his vantage point, Kili could only watch as the firework – and the top of the tent – took off into the sky.

It did look quite a bit like the dragon from years ago, except now it wasn’t striking fear into the hearts of Caila and her army: it was frightening the hobbits of the Shire. Screams were heard as the dragon unfurled its fiery wings and looped around to fly over the party.

The wings curled in, and just as it passed over the party tree it pulled into a massive ball of flames, hurtling through the sky and off into the distance. Kili watched as it spun around and around before exploding in the night, sending a multitude of fireworks raining down. A cheer went up from the party, and the delight of the attending hobbits was heard in their laughter and joy.

“Seems like he improved it,” Kili noted. Legolas sighed from beneath him. “What? I liked the raining bit at the end.”

“I’d advise we find somewhere else to be,” Fili said, groaning as he picked himself up. “And swiftly.”

“Why?”

Merry let out a gust of air. “That was incredible.”

“Let’s do another,” Pippin agreed, sounding equally star-struck. The hobbits quickly hurried to their feet, only to find Gandalf in their path. Two twin squeals were heard as the wizard took them both by their ears.

Ah. That would be why Fili had denoted their leaving. “Meriadoc and Peregrin,” Gandalf all but growled. “I might have known.” He then turned his glare towards Kili, who was scrambling to his feet. “And yet another set of troublemakers. Will you ever _learn_?”

“We’re the ones who saw them creep into the tent,” Fili said, brushing his arms off. His face was a little blackened from the explosion, and Kili felt the same powder on his own cheeks. They weren’t nearly as bad as Merry and Pippin, both of whom looked fairly covered in the stuff. “We came in to find them already lighting it. What did you want us to do, throw water on it?”

Gandalf muttered something but left them alone. The two young hobbits were dragged off by their ears, however, and Kili couldn’t help but grin as they went. Nothing less than what they deserved, scaring half the population of the Shire with their antics. Not quite the responsible adults they should have been.

It was that last thought that left Kili’s mood sour. “What’s the matter?” Legolas asked, frowning.

“My first thought wasn’t to help them, it was to reprimand them,” Kili complained. “That is _not_ a childish response. I’ve been enjoying my non-responsibility time here, and I just went and mucked it all up.”

He could feel Legolas’s laugh as the elf pressed a kiss to the top of his head, even as Fili looked equally as disgruntled. They’d been enjoying their time of freedom, acting like children and doing so on purpose. The crown wasn’t as heavy when it was carried by more than one person, but here, in the Shire, they weren’t King and Advisor to the King. They were simply Fili and Kili, and the freedom had…well. Left them a bit on the silly side, he supposed. It was nice.

And here they were, their first real chance to cause mischief as they used to, and what did they do? The responsible, grown thing to do. It was disgusting.

“Dernwyn would be proud,” Legolas said, and ow, rub salt into the wound, why not?

Still, it was hard to argue with him, given that Kili agreed with his sister. And Fili. Sometimes being full grown was necessary. Even when there was no crown to bear.

It was sweeter still when Kili saw both young hobbits washing dishes under Gandalf’s careful eye. If being a mature and reasonable adult meant getting out of dish washing duty, he would proudly be a fully grown dwarf.

One who enjoyed the promise of being _very_ grown up with his husband later.

 

“Are you making a speech?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo huffed. “Of course not! Why would I give a speech? I’m dreadful at them.”

Thorin merely hummed and waited for the hobbits who would undoubtedly haul Bilbo up to the stage. For someone who was ‘dreadful’ at speeches, he seemed to give an awful lot of them.

Sure enough, Hamfast was there a moment later, catching Bilbo by the arm. “Up you come, and no fussing! You’ve words to give out, and no one’s better at it than you.” He gave Bilbo a bright grin, his fondness for his friend blazingly obvious, and Thorin’s eyes went a little wide at his sudden realization.

Well. Seemed like his nephew hadn’t fallen far from his uncle, in terms of loving someone you weren’t meant to be with.

Applause met Bilbo as soon as he stood on the tallest table, and he held up his hands. “All right, that’s enough of that, I’m only getting older, you know, not younger,” he insisted. “Now, if I was getting younger, _that_ would be a trick worthy of applause.”

“Only as old as you feel, Uncle!” Kili shouted from his bench. He seemed quite content to curl up with Legolas and enjoy the goings-on.

“In that case, thanks in part to you and your brother, I’m ancient indeed,” Bilbo said, to the chorusing laughter of the hobbits.

Bilbo finally drew himself up to his full height and beamed at everyone. “My fellow hobbits, my Tooks and Baggins and Brandybucks and Sackville-Baggins and Proudfeet-“

“Proud _foot_!” hollered Mrs. Proudfoot, sitting beside her son Gerd. Bilbo rolled his eyes and dismissively waved her off. Thorin felt his lips pull up into a grin. His husband, his radiant beloved. Always the shining light whenever the world darkened around Thorin.

Bilbo shifted on the table, and Thorin frowned slightly as the light caught something on his shirt. It took only a moment to identify what it was, and Thorin had to swallow back his emotions. “Sentimental fool,” he breathed. Bilbo had turned again, away from the multitude of candles, so the glimmer was gone. But Thorin knew what he’d seen. He knew what Bilbo was wearing, tucked away under his vest.

The pin that he still held precious and dear, even after all this time.

“Today is my 90th birthday!” Bilbo shouted with a wide grin, and cheers went up. Dwalin clapped the hardest, but it was Dis’s whistle that nearly blew the ears out of every hobbit and dwarf within earshot.

Bilbo gave her a quick bow as thanks, and Dis merely grinned. “My 90th birthday indeed, and long has been my path to it. I’ve wandered nearly every corner of this great world, seen so many things beyond the telling of it. Trolls and orcs, horses and winged creatures…friends now long gone.” He paused and swallowed hard, and Thorin could well imagine the face going through Bilbo’s mind. Even after all of these years, Thengel’s death was a bitter memory.

Bilbo shook himself after a moment, but the sheen in his eyes was still visible. “My first toast this evening goes to those who are responsible for my being here. Whether living or gone, I toast them on this, the celebration of my life. To them!”

“Aye, to them!” the crowd chorused. Quick sips were taken, though in a few cases, longer pulls from their mugs were required. Bilbo gave a quick bow to Dwalin, eyes full of fondness, and Dwalin gave his hobbit brother a grin that was equally as fond.

Even if Dis hadn’t said anything, the thought that Dwalin wouldn’t stay in Erebor forever wasn’t a new one. His visits had become more frequent over the years, as often as he could. He wondered if Dwalin would actually move to the Shire, though. Only time would tell.

“My second toast is to those who make my life…well, _easy_ would be a terrible word choice, because they’ve often made it the hardest it could be. I owe to them the quickness of my mind and the constant sharpening of it. So, my next toast: to my kin!”

Laughter and giggles went with the next sip, and Thorin raised his eyebrow at his husband. Bilbo just grinned and took his own sip. Cheeky indeed, and Thorin was loving every moment of it. His hobbit, his beloved. His Bilbo, grinning and so alive Thorin almost couldn’t stand it.

He glanced at the other cheeky member of the family, where she was sitting beside Hob. Frodo wasn’t far away, and Thorin noted with some dismay that he wasn’t sitting anywhere near Sam. Sam was beside Rosie, and both were smiling. Even as Thorin watched, however, Rosie’s eyes cut over to Frodo, and she whispered something to Sam. Sam shrugged helplessly, and Thorin realized the lad had no clue that Frodo’s quietness and avoidance was due to an unrequited love.

“One last toast – yes, I know, Adelard, I’ve gone on _quite_ long enough, you needn’t point at the cake! – one last toast and then I’m through. And this one is the easiest one to make. For it goes to the only being my heart will ever call for.”

All eyes went to Thorin, and Thorin’s own eyes went to Bilbo. Bilbo smiled at him, both hands holding tight to his mug. “My reason for breathing, my sanity amidst the chaos, my king and warrior and valiant hero. No matter where the next years take us, may my hand always be wrapped around yours. Thank you-“ and he swallowed hard, pushing past the sudden swell of emotion that seemed to have overtaken him. “Thank you for coming after me, all those years ago. I don’t know that I’ve ever really said that to you.”

If there were others there at the party, Thorin didn’t know it. All he saw was his hobbit, standing on a table, looking so young and yet so aged all at the same time. The entire party area seemed empty, no one else but them. Slowly Thorin stood and made his way towards the table where Bilbo stood, never once taking his eyes off of his husband. Bilbo merely smiled, and his silver hair shone in the candlelight, like mithril. His most precious treasure, worth more than all the mines of Moria.

He stopped in front of the table, and he hoped Bilbo could see it all in his eyes: his love, his devotion, his promise forever. No matter what was thrown at them, Thorin refused to let it part them. “To my husband,” Bilbo said, but he didn’t raise his mug. “The greatest being I will ever know.”

Thorin set the mug aside and tugged Bilbo down until his lips met his husband’s. He was only aware of others still being there when the cheers and applause went up. He ignored them in favor of kissing Bilbo. That was far more favorable.

Even after all these years, Bilbo could still blush as if it was their first kiss. He was grinning, beaming from ear to ear, however. “Should we open the floor to dancing?” he murmured.

As if they’d heard him, several hobbits grabbed their instruments and began to play. Bofur joined in with his pipe, having handed his fiddle off to someone else. It was a livelier tune, urging stamping feet and spinning, and Thorin lifted Bilbo straight from the stage. Bilbo chuckled and held on to him tightly, even after he’d been set on the ground.

“I was hoping for a slow dance,” Bilbo said. His hands were still wrapped around Thorin’s arms. “But this will have to do.”

“We’ll have our own dance,” Thorin promised. “But for now…” And that was all the warning he gave Bilbo before tugging him into the midst of the other dancers. Bilbo laughed and began to move his feet in time with the music.

Around them, the others had joined – Kili with Legolas, both spinning and laughing with one another. Fili was leading his mother around, though it seemed that Dis was actually doing the leading, much as she had when he was a child. Dwalin and Ori were up and moving, and Esmeralda had managed to drag Merry out from his previously assigned punishment. Pippin, left with the dishes alone, slouched and pouted as he watched everyone else. It was with a sigh that Gandalf set aside his pipe and nudged Pippin into the crowd. Pippin looked startled but grateful, and then he was off and joining the dance.

“I believe Pippin has been forgiven,” Thorin mused. Bilbo stepped away, and Thorin obliged him by lifting his own arm to spin his husband under.

“Mm. Gandalf knows that Pippin’s a good sort. He wouldn’t punish him forever, just enough to discourage them from doing it again.”

They could use a bit more discouraging, but it wouldn’t be tonight. Off to one side, Hob and Elodie were dancing together, Hob his usual graceless self and Elodie laughing all the while. Sam and Rosie were also dancing merrily, though Sam scowled when Merry and Pippin danced around them. Frodo wasn’t with them, however, and it led Thorin to look around for his nephew.

There, off by one of the tables. Frodo seemed to be enjoying himself, at least: he was doing a funny dance he’d probably just made up, with a young and beautiful hobbit trying her best to keep up with him. Thorin swallowed back a grin.

“Barking up the wrong tree,” Bilbo said, having also spotted Frodo. “She’ll figure it out before the night’s through, though.”

Someone else behind Frodo had also taken note of him, however, and though he never approached Frodo, his eyes refused to look away. He looked familiar, for some reason, though Thorin couldn’t place him. “Who is that?” he asked Bilbo.

Bilbo finally stopped dancing and stepped up beside him. “Who?”

“The hobbit behind Frodo, a bit to the right. Light hair, fine features.”

Bilbo narrowed his gaze as he looked at the young lad. “He’s a Took, that much is for certain: look at his nose, that’s how you can tell it right off.” He quickly glanced around and reached out, somehow catching Elodie’s arm when she’d begun dancing closer to them. “Elodie, who’s that?”

“Did you steal my dance partner?” Hob teased.

“I wasn’t aware you were dancing,” Elodie shot back. Hob just threw his head back and laughed, and Elodie turned to Bilbo with a grin. “Sorry, what was that?”

“The lad behind Frodo, who is that?”

Elodie went up on her tip-toes to peer over the crowd. “Reginard Took, if you mean the lad to the right of him. His younger brother Everard’s somewhere too.”

“Adelard’s boys!” Bilbo said, and now that Thorin looked, he could see the hobbit in his son. Now he knew where he’d seen the face before: from many years ago, when Adelard had been young and determined to take back the Shire. Yes, it did look like a much younger Adelard.

One who seemed to be quite fixated on Frodo.

“Oh,” Elodie said, having apparently come to the same conclusion. “ _Oh_. I don’t think he’s ever met Frodo. We’ve only spoken briefly in the market ourselves, that’s how I knew who it was.”

“Should we introduce them?” Hob asked.

“No, no, you leave them alone. Frodo’s had enough of a heartache lately, he doesn’t need any more of it.” Though Bilbo’s own eyes took on a calculating gleam, and Thorin decided to end that swiftly enough before it started.

“We’ll leave them in peace: Elodie, can you ask Bofur for a slower song?”

“Be glad to,” she said, and she was off, hurrying through the crowd with Hob’s hand held tight in her own. Dwalin and Ori lifted their arms to let them through like a bridge, and Thorin couldn’t help but grin.

It was only Bilbo’s tugging that pulled him away from his watching. His husband’s eyes were bright and full of laughter. “Are you trying to rush me at my own party? The soft and romantic songs don’t come until _much_ later. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to take me away from my party.”

“If I get half a chance,” Thorin said, and Bilbo laughed and laughed, even as the music slowed to a gentler pace. Thorin bowed low and offered his hand to Bilbo. With a quick bow of his own Bilbo accepted, and it felt much as it had many years ago at their wedding: hand in hand, Bilbo’s chest moving against his. Every breath he took was felt against Thorin until he was breathing in time. Their hands were warm together, and Bilbo’s eyes looked like stars.

“Beloved,” he murmured, and Bilbo smiled.

“Husband. My own, my dear, dear husband.”

 

“I thought you’d want to dance slow. You love dancing slow.”

“Not tonight. I’d rather just sit.”

“And plot ways to ensure your brother meets up with Reginard.”

Elodie made a face. “He’s been miserable, Hob! And it’s not right.”

With a sigh Hob settled down beside her on the bench, and Elodie took the time to look around. Others had stepped off the dance floor as well, milling around the kegs and the food tables. Her cousins Kili and Legolas were wrapped around each other – there was a surprise – and Fili was off beside Esmeralda, both talking about children, if their many nods to Merry were any indication. Tauriel and Gimli were on the dance floor now, carefully swaying and smiling at each other. Dwalin and Ori, too, were both moving gently with the music, and Dwalin’s eyes never left his husband.

And then, of course, there were her uncles. No one else in the world existed when they looked at each other like that, she knew it. Everyone else faded away, and it was just them, just as it always had been. They’d be together all the way to their bitter end, and she inhaled sharply at the thought. Losing the family she’d found after she’d lost her parents…it was nothing she wanted to think about and everything she’d have to face. One of these days, it would happen: Uncle Bilbo’s loss of memory was more frequent, longer every time he forgot.

She was going to lose them. That was life. But it wasn’t going to be tonight, and not anytime soon.

A nudge to her shoulder made her turn. Hob was watching her, only a slight hint of a smile on his lips. “You all right?” he asked.

It hit her like a bag of bricks. The realization was almost enough to make her physically fall off the bench. As it was, she jerked a little, and Hob immediately reached to steady her. “Elodie? Ellie?” he asked, sounding more concerned. “What’s the matter?”

“I love you,” she said, and it was freeing to finally put voice to what she’d felt for so long. “In case you didn’t know.”

Hob blinked, then blinked again. “I’d thought as much,” he said slowly. “You know I love you, and I always thought you loved me.”

“I’m tired of waiting,” she said. “I don’t even know what I was waiting for. Maybe now, this very instant.” She turned to Hob who was staring with eyes growing wider with every moment. “I love you,” she said again, and then, because she could, “Hob, I _love you_.”

“I know,” he said faintly. “I’ve known. Truly, I have.”

Well, maybe he had, but she hadn’t truly realized it until now, hadn’t realized _how much_ until just that moment. “Hob,” she said, and she took both of his hands in hers. “Hob, will you marry me?”

“I’m supposed to ask _you_!” he sputtered. “You shouldn’t have to ask me, I’m supposed to know when to ask _you_!”

“Well, I’m asking you, so…so there,” she finished. Hob gaped at her, and Elodie glared at him. “Do you want to marry me or not?”

“Well, when you ask like _that_ …”

“Hob!”

“Yes,” he said, and he pulled her closer until they were knee to knee and forehead to forehead. “Yes, I want to call you mine for the rest of my life, and have you live in the house that’s finished, and wake up next to you every morning-“

“Wait, wait, _wait_.” Elodie stared at him, the words not quite making sense, because he couldn’t have said what she thought he had, had he? “The house is finished?”

Hob looked sheepish. “Has been for two months,” he admitted. “I just…didn’t know when the right time to ask you was. I was going to tell you then.”

Her best friend, her betrothed and promised, the man she _loved_. The man who’d been there and changed her life for the better. The one who would stick by her through the future losses she’d have to endure. She’d lose her uncles, other family and friends. But she wouldn’t lose Frodo, and she wouldn’t lose Hob.

“Marry me,” she whispered. “Will you?”

“I will,” he promised, and just like that, he was kissing her, her hands tight in his grasp like a promise. He tasted like the sweets from the dessert table and a bit of pipe, too, and underneath it all was what she’d come to call ‘Hob’. She would know him anywhere.

A throat cleared above them, and Elodie pulled away to scowl off the person who’d interrupted her and Hob. Except it was Reginard Took, and she immediately put on her most interested face. “Yes?” she asked.

He winced a little at the edge in her voice, and Hob gently squeezed her hand. _Careful, don’t frighten the poor thing off,_ he seemed to say with his amused gaze. With a silent sigh she tried again. “Yes, Reginard?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said apologetically. “Honest I didn’t. I was…erm. You were, that is to say, the easier person to interrupt. I don’t even think Misters Bilbo and Thorin would notice me, at the moment.”

Still dancing, with Uncle Bilbo’s head now resting against Uncle Thorin’s chest. Both were still smiling. “No, you wouldn’t catch their attention with another dragon firework,” Elodie agreed. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I was…wondering. If. Um.”

“Out with it,” she said, making him jump.

“It’s not his fault,” Hob said. “You have that effect on people. Your uncles are right to call you a Shieldmaiden. I’ve met Dernwyn.”

She rather liked the title herself. “Well?” she said, trying to give Reginard some sort of gentleness.

It seemed to be enough for him to answer her, which he did in one sudden rush of words. “It’s Frodo. Is he seeing someone? Like…like you and Hob?”

“Hob and I are engaged,” she said, and Hob was practically bouncing in joy beside her. Elodie managed to hide her own glee in order to answer Reginard, who didn’t seem particularly surprised at the comment. “Frodo is not, nor is he seeing anyone at the moment.”

“Right. Is he, um, disposed towards gentlemen? He didn’t seem too captivated by Lavender earlier, that’s all, and she was very enticing. If someone were disposed to ladies,” he hurried to add, and Elodie finally realized what he was truly trying to ask.

“Reginard, are you asking me permission to court my brother?”

“Sort of, yes,” he said, and he slumped in relief at having been found out. “I would have asked your uncles, but. Well.”

“They’re in their own world, yes, we know.” Uncle Thorin would especially want to know that someone was trying to court his youngest, and she debated going over there and interrupting them. She could catch their attention, if she had to.

But Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo were both very concerned about Frodo, given his recent heartbreak from Sam. Enough that they’d probably nudge Frodo in anyone’s direction, if just to help her brother move on. And they’d left Elodie to her own choices, only appreciating Hob’s request as a traditional sort of thing. Elodie had made her own choice, and they’d wanted her to do so. She expected they would be much the same with Frodo.

Mind made up, she turned back to Reginard. “He likes fruit,” she said. “He thinks all of the oranges are gone, but they’re not, there’s a crate under the fruit table full of them. Tell Mister Dwalin I said it was all right for you to take an orange for Frodo: he’s been half guarding them all night.” Mostly because they were _Dwalin’s_ favorite, too, but also because putting out more food while the table was still mostly full wasn’t a smart idea.

Reginard pushed himself up onto his tip-toes for a moment in his excitement. “Thank you, Elodie,” he said fervently. “Thank you!” Then he was gone, off to the fruit table.

“Dwalin’s not anywhere near the fruit table,” Hob said, raising his eyebrow at her. “He’s closer to the musicians.”

“He’ll want to know, and it was the only way to send a message of sorts. Dwalin’s been very protective of my brother.” Just as Fili was protective of her. Ever since the night he’d found her on the roof of Bag-End, she’d sort of felt as if she’d had an older brother, or perhaps another uncle, and not just a cousin. It was a warm feeling, and there was another person that would be beside her when the time came for her uncles to go.

She wondered if Fili would be willing to come to her wedding. Her _wedding_.

Hob chuckled. “That he has. Dwalin’s protective of you, too.”

She blinked. “He is?”

“He is. He told me if I hurt you that he’d string up my guts and strum them like a harp. We were in Erebor when he said that to me.”

Eyes wide now, she stared at Hob, her mouth falling open. “He said that? Honestly? What did you say back?”

With a shrug Hob said, “I told him you’d likely do it first. He said I was a good man and asked me about my work as a bounder.”

A giggle got out, and then another, and then Elodie was in near hysterics, laughing and falling against Hob. He was laughing too, but it was probably more amusement from her than anything else. It took a moment for her to settle and wipe her eyes, and when she glanced up, somehow, her eyes found her brother.

Reginard was standing in front of him, just catching Frodo’s attention. He offered out an orange with a smile. He said something, something that made Frodo’s cheeks turn a bit pink, but then Frodo did something he hadn’t done very much in the past few days.

Frodo smiled.

It was when Reginard took a seat next to Frodo, obviously delighted, that Elodie turned back to Hob. Hob grinned at her. “Matchmaker,” he accused.

“Mm. Someone had to.”

Hob let out one last chuckle before rising to his feet. “Come on: I want a dance with my fiancé.”

Fiancé. Now _that_ was quite the title. “Should we tell my uncles?” she asked.

“They’ll figure it out,” he said, before pulling her to the dance floor.

And they did, right around the same time everyone else did: when Hob dipped her at the end of their dance and promised to buy her any wedding dress she wanted. Then there was more cheering, and she thought her uncles looked extremely pleased at the announcement. Everyone flocked to them, wishing them congratulations, and somewhere between Mrs. Proudfoot’s loud excitement and Lobelia’s sharp grin of pride, her uncles disappeared from the party.

It progressed merrily into the night without them, and Elodie was quite certain they were perfectly fine with that.

 

The morning after a party was always, as Gandalf saw it, the more amusing part, if one had not done as others had and imbibed too much ale. If one had, then, well, it wasn’t exactly funny, now was it?

There were certain perks to being a wizard, and while not being affected by alcohol was often a downside, on this bright and overly cheery morning following Bilbo Baggins’ 90th Birthday party, he was rather grateful for it. Given that he could hear others around him groaning as they, too, came into wakefulness again, he was _very_ glad that the ale from the night before wasn’t dampening his mood.

Hobbits used to partying it up were seen stumbling back from where they’d fallen asleep in the party area, on their way home. Several were seen nursing their heads where they sat, and more than a few were going straight back to the kegs, in the hopes of using the age old remedy for an ale head: more ale. Gandalf snorted and pushed himself up from where he’d fallen asleep against a tree, only to stop when soft sounds of protest met his ears. He glanced down, bewildered.

There, alongside where he’d been sleeping, were several others sleeping as well. The shade of the tree kept the sun from waking them quite so soon, so Gandalf was allowed to look upon just who had joined him.

It seemed those who normally resided in Bag-End had decided to avoid the smial for the night, or perhaps had simply sat down to rest for “just a moment” and found themselves falling deeply asleep. Frodo and Elodie were sleeping beside each other, with Hob on Elodie’s other side. Engaged, soon to be wed, and wasn’t that a glorious thought. Little Elodie Baggins, fully grown, and soon to be starting her own family. Frodo, too, would soon be stepping out of Bag-End for himself, and Gandalf wondered what would befall the young hobbit. The weight once promised to him had been carried instead by his uncle. Frodo was free.

Not that Gandalf even considered telling his old friend that. He knew that Galadriel had spoken to Bilbo about it once, that what he’d done had changed the course of the future for good. But bringing it up again, when he was already falling into the past, losing himself in memories best left forgotten…no. Gandalf would not be so cruel to his old friend.

Nor to his other friend, though Elrond would have to shoulder the response to Thorin. The once King had spoken to Gandalf of it briefly before the party, telling him of Dis’s idea, of how she had suggested speaking to Elrond about healing of the mind for Bilbo. It had been on the tip of Gandalf’s tongue to caution him, much as Dis had done. Then Gandalf had looked into his eyes and seen the desperation, the fear of losing the one he called his beloved. Thorin would have walked through fire for a single _chance_ to save Bilbo. Goodness knew that Gandalf would do much the same for his little friend.

Gandalf had merely taken him by the shoulder and smiled kindly at him. “I imagine Elrond may have some ideas, yes. We can only hope that he will have an answer. At the very least, he will be pleased to hear from you as to how everyone is doing.” And he had left it at that. If Thorin had been suspicious about Gandalf’s lack of arguing, he hadn’t shown it. Age tended to mellow the fiercest of people out. Even Dain, fiery dwarf that he was, had been tempered with time.

Well. Mostly. That dwarf would go down in battle, and proudly. Gandalf would have to take a trip to the Iron Hills next. Yes, that would do nicely, see how things were going after the civil war of just a few years ago.

“Gandalf?” Frodo murmured sleepily, and Gandalf turned his mind from diplomacy to friendship. He chuckled as Frodo fought to find his feet, still blinking sleep from his mind.

“Do you often fall asleep outside, young Frodo Baggins?”

“You did,” Frodo pointed out.

Gandalf huffed, as if annoyed, though he knew the young hobbit could see straight through him. “Yes, well, I am an old wizard and prone to falling asleep wherever I may find a soft place to do so. You are young and have a bed. Though,” he added, raising one eyebrow, “I imagine sleep was the last thing from your mind, what with young Reginard Took taking up most of your evening.” And early morning. They’d talked the entire night away, and Gandalf had a sneaking suspicion it was more than friendship between them.

Sure enough, Frodo blushed. “He was…nice,” he finished lamely. “And kind. I enjoyed his company.”

“You seemed to enjoy it a great deal, which, my dear boy, I think is just fine indeed. I hope you two will continue enjoying each other’s company.”

“I think we will,” Frodo said softly. There was a smile playing on his lips, as if remembering his conversations of the night before, and Gandalf smiled. It was good to see the young hobbit so cheery; if there was one thing Gandalf could not abide, it was seeing a Baggins in distress. Goodness knew Gandalf had fought his way across the whole of Middle-Earth just to see his friend safely returned from the quest he had taken upon himself to do, and just to see him smile once more.

It seemed like a whole lifetime ago, those days. A completely different Bilbo Baggins than the one that currently resided in Bag-End. Yet Gandalf knew them to be one and the same, and all he could hope for, in the end, was-

“Mister Frodo!”

Gandalf turned to where Sam was hurrying over. He paused, as if uncertain of his welcome, and Gandalf stepped aside. “By all means, Samwise, do not let me interfere with your friendship,” he said, and turned to Frodo. “I’ll be in Bag-End, enjoying your uncle’s cooking. I suggest you not tarry unless you plan to miss it.”

“I won’t tarry,” Frodo promised. “Sam and I will be there in a short bit.”

Sam’s shoulders seemed to drop a little in relief, the same relief that was starkly visible across his face. “I just wanted to ask about Reginard last night,” he said after a moment. Gandalf began to stride away, but he could still hear the conversation behind him.

“Why?”

“Well, you seemed more yourself, that’s all. You haven’t been as of late, and I…I didn’t know how to help. But he seemed to make you happy, and that’s all I want, Frodo. You’re my best friend, don’t you know? I want you to be happy.”

There was a pause, before Frodo said, with what sounded like a smile, “And I am, Sam. I couldn’t ask for a better friend than you. He…I think he does make me happy.”

“That’s all I want, then,” Sam said firmly, and Gandalf chuckled softly to himself. The determination of hobbits would see the world through. Even after he himself was long gone, Gandalf was quite certain that hobbits would keep the world spinning and on a straight course. It was a thought that brought comfort. His own days upon the earth were numbered, much as anyone else’s were. Much as Bilbo’s were.

And that brought him back to his earlier, unfinished thought, in that all he could hope for, in the end, was that Bilbo was filled with happiness, that he regretted nothing, and that he was surrounded by those who loved him. He supposed that was all anyone could ask.

“All I could ask,” he murmured. Up ahead, the door to Bag-End was open, and dwarves were milling about outside, some chuckling at the state of others, others groaning while they were being laughed at. In the midst of it all was his hobbit and dear friend, and with him would be Thorin Oakenshield, the once King of Erebor, who would never leave his side.

If he could but have one wish of his own, it would not be spent upon himself. No, it would go to his two dear friends, that their happiness would last for longer than their counted days. Here and now, this day of warmth and sunshine, of kin and friends…that was what Gandalf would wish for them. For Bilbo, and Thorin.

He took a moment and closed his eyes, let just a hint of his power out into the air around them. He could not give them what he wanted to. But he could give them this day, that no worries would weigh upon their minds. It would simply be joyful.

And that, that Gandalf could do.

_Finis_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, gentle reader. This is where you get to make a choice.
> 
> The next fic following after this one is the final fic in the series. It'll only be followed by an epilogue. It does involve character death, though I think it still ends as happy as it can, and in a very closing (and yes, bittersweet, obviously) way. So.
> 
> If you do not want to see how the series is finished, end your voyage here with everyone happy and very much alive. (Though if you're reading the epistolary fic "my words will wander" you're safe to read all the way to the end. The last letters are before the last fic.) They can forever be here, and you need not venture further.
> 
> If, however, you want to see how I have always envisioned it ending, then you're good to read the last fic. I'm leaving the choice up to you.
> 
> Thank you all for being amazing readers, regardless of your choice. Your support has meant the world to me.


End file.
